


Finn: The Stranger

by wheel_pen



Series: Finn [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Clones, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-22 10:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4832795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While playing at the park with Finn, Sherlock sees a suspicious adult and takes action.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finn: The Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.  
> This story has not been Britpicked. Please let me know if I get anything horribly wrong.  
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

Sherlock and Finn were at the park. John was _not_ at the park, as he had some mysterious ‘things to get done’ that somehow, Sherlock and/or Finn would impede. Finn had hoped that meant John was buying them presents, but Sherlock suspected it was more along the lines of paying bills and doing the grocery shopping. Shudder. Very valiant of John to sacrifice himself that way, for the greater good. Soldiers were used to that sort of thing, Sherlock supposed.

At least the park wasn’t crowded today. Sherlock had been disappointed to learn one could not _reserve_ the entire park for private recreation, a situation he thought the city ought to remedy, but then again Finn often enjoyed seeing his little playmates there, which John said was good for his socialization.

But what was _Sherlock_ supposed to do while Finn was playing with other children? He couldn’t get immersed in his phone or wander off, John had been very clear that he needed to remain _alert_ and _present_. John had actually suggested—more than once, Sherlock thought—that Sherlock speak to the other parents who were also present exercising their offspring, but—shudder again. Sherlock could tell all he needed to know about them with one glance and they were a dull lot, not a single serial killer or evil genius among them.

“Good!” John had said, prosaically.

So Sherlock was standing in the sand, which he hated, pushing Finn on a swing. The little blond girl he sometimes played with was pottering about on a merry-go-round nearby, and Sherlock was keeping an eye on her—it seemed that wherever she was, her mother was not far behind, and the mother always spoke to Sherlock, and asked him _questions_ , which none of the other parents did anymore.

Then a man walked up to the little girl, catching Sherlock’s eye, and he spoke to her and offered her a bag of sweets. Immediately Sherlock stilled Finn’s swing. “Stay here,” he ordered the boy.

Swiftly Sherlock marched over to the blond girl and inserted himself between her and the man. “Who are you?” Sherlock demanded of him, then, “Don’t eat that,” to the child, taking the lolly away and pocketing it for later analysis.

The man was mildly surprised. “Who are _you_?” he asked in return.

“My identity is not at issue,” Sherlock snapped coldly. Then he added to the girl, “Don’t you know not to speak to strangers?”

“But, Mr. Holmes, he’s not a stranger,” the little girl claimed. “He’s my daddy!”

Sherlock gave the man a onceover. “He is most certainly _not_ your daddy,” he countered. “Just look at his shoelaces!”

This caused the little girl to start crying. Perhaps not unexpected, it was probably rather traumatizing being accosted by a stranger at the park who purported to be your father. The man was bold enough to reach for her and Sherlock picked her up instead. “I think not,” he stated with finality. “Now are you going to explain yourself, or shall I immobilize you until the police come?”

The man was giving him an odd look. “Oh, you must be Sherlock,” he said, as if this realization meant something to him. “Melanie said you were here with your son a lot.”

“I don’t know any Melanie,” Sherlock corrected, unimpressed with his diversion technique. “Why are you masquerading as Kimmy’s father?”

“It’s Cimmy,” the man claimed, “and technically, I’m her stepfather.” He held out his hand to shake, which Sherlock ignored. “Eric Brown. You know, her biological father left when she was a baby—“

There was something familiar about his story, and with further inspection Sherlock was beginning to think he may have been telling the truth. Sherlock sniffed at the child, then leaned over to sniff at the man. “You both had breakfast in the same household,” he deduced.

“Well thank goodness for that.”

“Here, you may have her,” Sherlock judged, handing the girl over. She was getting loud and sticky, anyway.

The man handled her like an expert. “There, there, sweetie,” he soothed, kissing her cheek. “Mr. Holmes was just being careful. He’s looking out for you, that’s good to know.”

Sherlock glanced around for a distraction and spotted Finn waiting anxiously by the swings. He trotted over when summoned and Sherlock lifted him to the same level as everyone else. “This one is mine,” he explained.

“No doubt about that,” the man agreed.

“Hello, Cimmy’s dad,” Finn greeted cheerfully.

“Hey Finn.”

Sherlock looked between the two of them suspiciously. “Do you know him?” he asked Finn. “How?”

“I’ve seen him before at Cimmy’s house, when I go there to play,” Finn explained.

“Oh. Has John met him?” Finn nodded. “John handles most of Finn’s socialization opportunities,” Sherlock informed the man.

“Yes, delegation is the key, isn’t it?” he agreed, rocking the girl slightly. She seemed calmer, at least.

Finn reached over to poke at his friend. “Hey Cimmy, you want to play on the fire engine with me?” he suggested. “I’ll let you steer.” The park had a climbing toy allegedly shaped like a fire engine, only not really, and the children found it inexplicably fascinating.

“Okay,” the girl agreed, sniffling a bit, and both children were set down and took off for the fire engine happily. Children’s moods were so changeable.

“Look, Sherlock,” the man began, “no hard feelings, I know you meant well—“

“Yes,” Sherlock confirmed, and walked away to a bench with a better view of the fire engine. Sunny’s stepfather—Derek?—was not a serial killer or evil genius, and therefore of limited interest to Sherlock, though John would no doubt be pleased to learn this. Bit of time wasted, though; perhaps John could take pictures of the custodial adults of Finn’s playmates, so Sherlock would know them on sight. He set about texting his brilliant idea to John, though he noted John had not responded to _any_ of his other texts today.


End file.
